Zongman: Becoming Prime Minister in the Conan Universe

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"Okay, I understand, Boss!"
Fujiwara Toru put down his phone.
The call he had just received was from his adoptive father, Spencer, and Spencer had only requested one thing in the phone call: do not kill Vermouth!

The FBI had been investigating Vermouth's identity, but the CIA Director had long known that Chris Vineyard was Vermouth.
Adding that to the detailed information about himself that Vermouth had just mentioned, Fujiwara Toru finally confirmed one thing.
There really was someone from the Black Organization in the CIA, and it was the CIA Director himself!

We are about to fight to the death, why is Your Majesty surrendering first?
'No, it shouldn't be a mole, but a cooperative relationship.'
Fujiwara Toru thought in his heart and quickly confirmed this.

If the Black Organization could get a mole to become the CIA Director, then this organization wouldn't be investigated by intelligence agencies around the world, let alone be targeted and hunted down.
Although the Black Organization was strong, it was just an international criminal group formed after the war. It was still far from being able to meddle with the CIA, which was only responsible to the President of the United States.
Vermouth then put down her phone, and the tense and murderous atmosphere relaxed a bit.

The two people who were 'shouting to kill' just now had actually become comrades at this moment.
"Boy, it's best not to point a gun at people. It wouldn't be good if it went off accidentally."
"I am indeed about to fire."

Fujiwara Toru smiled, hinting at something.
Without the threat to her life, Vermouth returned to her mysterious and alluring state.
She got up from the edge of the bed, stretched in her black lace lingerie, her soft waist forming a perfect arc, her curves fully exposed, stretching her slender and delicate body to her heart's content.

Fujiwara Toru silently put away his pistol.
Just as Vermouth was about to say something, the doorbell of this luxury suite suddenly rang.
"Who is it?"
Fujiwara Toru shouted towards outside the bedroom.

"Sir, I've brought the meal you ordered."
Fujiwara Toru looked at Vermouth, and Vermouth nodded lightly: "It's the meal I ordered when I got up just now."
Hearing this, Fujiwara Toru picked up Vermouth's clothes from the ground and threw them to her, saying, "Put your clothes on."

After speaking, he left the bedroom, came to the living room, walked to the entrance hallway, and looked out through the peephole. A waiter was standing outside the door, pushing a food cart.
Fujiwara Toru opened the door, made way, and said to the waiter, "Push the cart in."
The waiter pushed the food cart into the living room. Vermouth also walked out of the bedroom at this time, now dressed.

"Sir, please sign here."
The waiter took out a pencil and a bill and handed them to Fujiwara Toru.
Fujiwara Toru took the pencil, suddenly, his expression turned cold, and his right hand, holding the pencil, moved with lightning speed, his arm turned into a phantom, and instantly stabbed the pencil into the waiter's trachea in his throat!

At the same time, his left hand opened his fingers, and his arm was raised like a giant hammer, using the style "Wind to the Ears" and slammed into the waiter's temple.
The waiter only felt a pain in his throat, and his brains seemed to explode, his eyes saw stars, and he fell to the ground.
The pencil that pierced his trachea prevented him from making a sound. Lying on the ground, he could only make "hoarse" sounds. Soon, his pupils dilated, and he died of suffocation.

Vermouth was puzzled. Fujiwara Toru suddenly lifted the tablecloth on the food cart, revealing not food, but an MP9 submachine gun!
Seeing the submachine gun, Vermouth's expression turned serious: "How did you know he was a fake waiter?"
Fujiwara Toru explained: "I saw his hands just now. There were thick calluses in the gap between his thumb and index finger. Those are calluses formed by holding a gun for many years."

"Secondly, the waiters in this kind of luxury hotel have special training. The etiquette he used to deliver the meal just now was completely inconsistent, and even full of mistakes. He is definitely not a waiter from this hotel."
Based on Vermouth's understanding of acting, even if she hadn't noticed these details, she should have been able to see the problem with the waiter's acting.
But Vermouth's mind was chaotic at this time, so she didn't notice it immediately.

She glanced at the dead waiter, sighing with emotion.
This person was definitely a master, but he was killed by Fujiwara Toru with just a pencil. It was simply miraculous.
Fujiwara Toru suddenly felt his hair stand on end, and a warning bell rang loudly in his mind. He whispered, "Get down!"

While shouting these words, he struggled to lunge forward and pushed Vermouth to the ground.
In the next instant—
"Da da da da!!"

A burst of rapid gunfire came from outside the room, and countless bullet holes pierced through the door and shot into the living room.
A metal storm swept everything away. The water glasses in the living room were shattered by the bullets, and water flowed everywhere.
The sofa was even shot with large holes by the penetrating bullets, exposing the sponge inside. The decorations on the walls fell to the ground. The entire living room was instantly shattered, like a ruin.

At this time, Fujiwara Toru had grabbed Vermouth and was crawling forward, crawling into the inner room of the bedroom.
He was still a carbon-based life form, a body of flesh and blood. No matter how much he broke through the limits of the human body, he absolutely couldn't withstand the baptism of a bullet storm!
Just as Fujiwara Toru hugged Vermouth and crawled into the inner room, the shattered door in the hallway collapsed with a crash.

A flashbang was thrown into the living room from outside the room. 170 decibels of noise and a high-intensity light of up to 6 million candela instantly erupted.
Fortunately, Fujiwara Toru had taken Vermouth into the inner room at this time. Otherwise, under this flashbang, even though he wouldn't be directly stunned after special training, he would definitely not be able to tell east from west for a certain period of time.
Three fully armed personnel quickly rushed into the house. °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° After seeing that there was no one in the living room, their eyes all looked towards the bedroom door.

One of them nodded and took out another flashbang, throwing it into the bedroom.
As the saying goes, it was too late, but at that time it was fast. Just as this flashbang had just crossed the door frame, a whip kick flashed by. At the critical moment, Fujiwara Toru used a "ball king kick" to precisely kick the flashbang back.
Bang!

The three armed men obviously didn't expect this move. The high-decibel noise and intense light erupted again. The huge shock instantly caused the three to lose their combat power.
Fujiwara Toru lay on his side on the ground and slid past the door frame, holding the MP9 and firing several shots in a row, two shots to the chest and one shot to the head, instantly killing the three with extreme precision!
Just as he killed the three, the magazine fell to the ground, and a new magazine had already been changed. Fujiwara Toru held the gun with both hands and rushed into the living room with small steps to confirm safety. Then, he came to the collapsed door and checked the hallway.

In the hallway, a hotel waiter was squatting on the ground with his hands on his head, his posture was very standard. It seemed that for Americans, this had to become a more common thing, everyone knew how to respond in a fire fight.
After temporarily confirming that it was safe, Fujiwara Toru returned to the room and began to inspect the corpses.
"Did the drug cartel come to kill you?"

Vermouth was still a bit frightened, but as a member of the Black Organization, she quickly calmed down.
"It's not the drug cartel. The drug cartel doesn't have such well-trained personnel, and it's even less possible for them to run to metropolitan New York fully armed to attack."
"If they were really the drug cartel, then the FBI and CIA leaders should resign!"

The armed men were all holding standard issue HK UMP9 submachine guns. Fujiwara Toru took out a magazine, shook it at Vermouth and said:
"Look at these bullets, they're all specially made armor-piercing bullets, afraid that you would wear a bulletproof vest and not die."
"They should be the Mossad from Jerusalem. I've dealt with them before and can recognize them. This group of people doesn't care about the consequences at all. It's something they can do to carry out an attack on American soil."

"My identity is at least that of the CIA, and I haven't made enemies with Mossad. They can't be here to kill me, but to kill you. I should have just happened to be here."
Fujiwara Toru immediately determined the goal of these people: "...Vermouth, have you been to Squid Country? Did you do anything there?"
Vermouth's expression turned ugly at this time. She quickly took out her phone and made a call:

"Gin, there's a mole in the organization, probably from Mossad. I've been attacked. You need to find out as soon as possible who betrayed my whereabouts!"
Not many people knew that Chris Vineyard was Vermouth, but there were still some people in the Black Organization who knew Vermouth's whereabouts.
After all, members of the Black Organization also had to cooperate in activities.

Fujiwara Toru then looked at Vermouth's leg, where blood was flowing down her trouser leg.
He frowned: "You're injured?"